By Any Other Name
by Gamemakers
Summary: A series of short oneshots, each examining a different character in the series without using the character's name.
1. Chapter 1

The other victors scream and cry, but he merely leans back in his armchair and reaches for the remote. He grins up at the ceiling for a moment before hoisting himself up to grab the good brandy from the kitchen. Surely this occasion is worthy of that bottle of '53 that has sat in his cupboard ever since he moved in.

Liquid honey with a bit of burn - just the way he likes it. Fifty-three was a good year indeed. The first glass is gone too soon, and the second and third quickly follow. He considers finishing off the bottle himself, but instead puts it back in his pantry. He'll want a drink to celebrate when he comes back. Seventy-five, he's sure, will be a good year as well.

The man has no way of knowing it, but he is the only victor who sleeps soundly that night.

A single glance in the mirror gives him a plan for the coming weeks. The muscles he worked so hard to earn in training are still there, obscured by a layer of soft padding that years of an easily life have allowed him. At his victory parties, the district women had asked to run their hands down his arms and chest. Their Capitol counterparts hadn't asked, but they had worshiped his body all the same. Something would have to change if he wanted the same attentions this year.

Weight training follows long morning runs. Afternoons consist of hand-to-hand, spear throwing, and sword fighting. Strategy occupies his evenings. Strength, speed, and smarts: the three S's. Thirty years after he first heard it, his trainer's mantra still resonates.

He wonders, sometimes, if the others realize what an incredible opportunity this Quell provides. He doubts it. Though they all were driven to stay alive, the man knows that only a few simply dreamed of winning.

In the sweetest of his dreams, he bests the others in the Arena, of proving that his victory was far more than chance. The twins from One shouldn't be too difficult. It will be almost beneath him to end the pitiful tributes Eight, Nine, and Ten will provide. Four will be more of a challenge. Odair is the obvious choice, and he's as strong and smart as they come. Besting him will be the greatest prize of all.

Weeks of hard training have banished the fat from his body, and when he stands on the Reaping stage, he is proud to feel the cameras on him. He hopes that the women watching can make out the rippling muscles in his arms as he and his district partner receive Two's applause.

For him, the next week is much like the ones that preceded it. He grows stronger during the days and plans at night.

When the lips to another world open, he is ready. The elevator begins to ascend, and the faint scent of salt reaches him before he catches his first glimpse of the sea. The man smiles. He is home.

.oOo.

**A/N:** Thanks for reading! This fic will be rated T for violence, language, and sexual references in later chapters. Each chapter will be much like this one - a short oneshot that attempts to describe a character without using the name. Did you catch who this was about? I'd love to know if you figured it out! This chapter was written using the prompt 'training' from Caesar's Palace.


	2. Chapter 2

He slouched against the side of the building, lazily watching the people of the district go about their daily business. In Two, the Peacekeepers stood ramrod straight at their posts, ready for any sign of trouble, but here in Twelve, nobody cared that he chose not to wear his helmet or that his nightstick sat on the window ledge behind him. Most of them would prefer not to notice him at all.

Shifting into a more comfortable position, he nodded to the one-armed woman that sold her white liquor in the Hob. She smiled back at him and hurried to her small booth. The warm, meaty scent of rabbit stew began to spread from Sae's makeshift kitchen, and his stomach rumbled, but he still had forty minutes before he could leave his post. He mentally counted to a thousand, watched the mockingjays flying overhead, and drummed his fingers against the wall, anything to distract himself from the wonderful scent –

It had only been twelve minutes. Surely he could at least make a quick round of the Hob to check on everyone. He grabbed his nightstick, but put it back when he saw who was approaching. Now _that _could be a very interesting distraction indeed. He ruffled his red hair before moving towards the two dark-haired figures that carried a doe between them. "Need some help with that?"

"Yeah, thanks." The girl moved over so that he could grab the deer's rear legs.

He smiled at her friend, but the young man only scowled at him in return. Together, the three of them trudged towards Sae's booth. Her granddaughter hid behind the old woman's skirts and peeked out to look at him. The Peacekeeper winked at her, and the little girl blushed. He chuckled, and after he helped the two teenagers set the doe on the counter, crouched down to talk to her. "Looks like our resident poachers have been getting into trouble again," he said. "Think they should be in trouble?"

"No, no punishing anyone! I like deer!" the girl protested.

From behind, someone swatted his shoulder, and he laughed, lifting himself back onto his feet. "No, you don't think I should take you down to the stocks?"

She rolled her eyes. "I think you should buy some venison and get back to work."

"All right." He eyed the creature. "I'll take a couple pounds."

The dark-haired girl nodded, and Sae cut a section off the doe's torso and began to wrap it. "Five miari."

"You're not going to let me pay in kisses?" He allowed a bit of fake offence to creep into his voice.

The boy snorted, but his friend just shook her head. "Don't be stupid. Come on, cough up the money."

He started to dig the coins out of his pocket. "You're sure you want to miss this opportunity? Redheaded men are supposed to be the most virile." He puckered his lips.

She laughed. "Maybe some other day."

"Shouldn't you be at your post?" said her friend.

He turned towards the young man. "I suppose I should be getting back." With one last wink towards the two girls, he headed back for his station, checking his watch on the way. Good. Only seven minutes left.

.oOo.

**A/N:** So, did you figure it out? Are these too easy, too hard, or just about right? Please let me know – it's really hard to judge whether or not this is working well without feedback. This chapter was written using the Caesar's Palace prompt 'hob.' Thank you so much to hollyhobbit101 and TLWtlw for reviewing!

Chapter 1's character is Brutus.


	3. Chapter 3

One last glance over the stations told her everything was ready. Her staff, on the other hand, all looked like they would rather be anywhere else. To be fair, so would she. Fine – she didn't need cheery; she needed good. These kids deserved the best chance she could give them. "Ready, people? They'll be here in ten."

The room stayed remained silent. Maybe that was a good thing. Chitchat wouldn't get them anywhere. "All right, everyone take your stations. I'll go get 'em."

Twenty-four nervous faces met her just outside the door. "Good morning," she said. A few smiled or answered with their own good morning, but all of their responses fell flat. She looked from face to face, and her stomach clenched. Five's girl could have passed for her own eleven-year-old daughter with her copper skin and wide, brown eyes. She forced herself to look away. Best not to dwell on that now – she wanted _all _of them to have the best chance they possibly could. Yes, the too-skinny ones from Eleven wouldn't make it, and neither would the twelve-year-olds that Six and Nine had sent this year, but that didn't mean she wouldn't try. They all deserved her best.

She smiled, hoping the gesture was not as weak as it felt. "It's time. Let's get started." The woman did her best to forget that she spoke to twenty-three walking corpses.

.oOo.

**A/N:** So, did you get it? Thanks to Roxibilly for reviewing!

Chapter 2's character was Darius


	4. Chapter 4

His heart does not beat faster as he watches the screen before him. His eyes do not flicker up to the corner, where the countdown is projected. His hands do not clutch the armrest as he waits for the gong. Why would one flinch if not threatened? Instead, he calmly studies the arena. He has seen it before, of course; nothing of any importance in Panem escapes his attention. Anyone who has lived for very long after gaining their first taste of power knows that.

"Zoom in on her face," he says. His voice is soft, but none would dare disobey. The girl squints in the bright light of the arena, panting as she stood on the pedestal, surrounded by seawater. _Water, perfect for putting out a girl on fire. _He smiles at her confusion, her pain, her bewilderment. Her _loss_. Absolutely delightful.

And it will be her loss - Heavensbee has promised as much. He reaches for the glass of wine that sits next to him, raising it in a toast. "It was a lovely dream, Miss Everdeen."

With one sip, his white wine turns red.

.oOo.

**A/N: **Chapter 3's character is Atala.


	5. Chapter 5

The instant she spots the bow that gleams from the very top of the Cornucopia, she understands. She knows why Twelve received an eleven, why the Capitol has picked a skinny, short sixteen-year-old as its likely victor.

She also knows she won't allow their prophecy to come true. The gong sounds, and she leaps from her pedestal with all the deadly grace that's been drilled into her practically since birth. A long, slender knife calls to her, and she stops for just a second to pick it up before racing further towards the center. Only once she has the bow does she pause to consider what goes on around her.

A boy – Nine's, she thinks, but she's not sure – scurries away from the Cornucopia with an orange backpack. Thirty seconds later, she wipes his blood off her knife and moves on to the next fight. This one lasts a little longer, but though the girl spent all of Training practicing with a sword, she can't hold off a Career for long. The little girl drops as her killer's betting odds improve.

The fighting is done for the moment, and it's easier to wait for the booms of the cannon than to add up the pieces that used to make up eleven children. As a group, the Careers move to the tree line and wait for the hovercrafts to pick up the bodies one by one. The girl next to her sniffles when her district partner's corpse is lifted from its spot at the base of the Cornucopia, but she doubts the other woman's tears are for poor Connor Reilly. Careers, as a rule, don't live long after their partner is gone. With Four gone, she'll only have her own partner and Two to cut through. Good.

"Are you going to grab some arrows for that thing or not?" asks the Two girl.

She opens her mouth to tell them that as long as she has the bow, the arrows won't do Twelve any good, but instead she laughs at her mistake and retrieves the quiver from the mouth of the Cornucopia. Information is a luxury in the Arena; she's not foolish enough to share the little she has.

The woman leaves the set of throwing knives so much like the ones she's trained with behind. The others will catch on if she brings three weapons into the forest with her. There will be no need for the bow once they've found Twelve; she'll come back for her knives then.

.oOo.

**A/N:** Thanks for reading, and to Estoma, Holly, and Rose for reviewing! I have a question: would you like the character's names posted in the author's note of the next chapter? So far, I've been answering reviews with guesses as right or wrong, and I assume readers are figuring these out, but I'm not sure. Anyway, let me know if you have an opinion about how I should run this. Thanks again!

Chapter 4's character is President Snow.


	6. Chapter 6

She tucks the bread under her arm and runs, hoping that the footsteps behind her belong to her twin. The jeweler has enough money to buy the soft honey bread from the bakery; his family doesn't need the rough loaf that sang to her from his windowsill. To the Peacekeepers, it won't matter that the jeweler's children have never gone to bed hungry or that she can see each of her ribs poking out from beneath sallow skin. Thieves' blood isn't an uncommon sight here, and at eight, she and her brother would not be the youngest ever sent to the whipping post.

She lets out a shriek when a large, strong hand clutches her arm, and the girl spins to strike the stranger. Already, the man's grip loosens as her brother's elbow hits his stomach. She smashes her foot into her attacker's, and he groans in pain. Still, he won't allow her to escape. "Stop it, the both of you. I don't want to hurt you."

Her hand stills halfway through a punch. "Who are you?" her brother demands.

He isn't a Peacekeeper, he assures them, and they aren't in trouble. Quite the opposite, in fact - he has an opportunity for them. The man offers the two children a chance to grow strong and make their district proud. If they do well, he promises, they'll someday live in a big house and have beautiful things.

After years of nothing, the thought of everything entices her. She glances to her twin, and she can see the same wonder reflected in the green eyes so much like her own. Two golden heads nod in unison, not understanding the suffering they've so happily agreed to endure.

.oOo.

**A/N:** Thanks for reading and to Estoma, hollyhobit101, stellaslomp, and apathyismypoison for reviewing!

The last chapter was Glimmer.


	7. Chapter 7

**Trigger Warning**: Suicide

.oOo.

The first parents he remembered weren't Father or Mother, no, they had far too many important things to do to play nursemaid to a little boy, but there were always so many servants and nannies and tutors that he hardly missed them. He was a fortunate child, they said, to have such successful parents. Not every child could have a successful future as a Gamemaker nearly guaranteed. The little boy heard those words so often that he could do little but believe them. He would succeed, like the boy in the story Miss Victoria told. Icarus's father had made him wings that he used to soar above the clouds. He became Icarus, flapping the beautiful wings that Mother picked out as his costume for his fourth birthday party all over the penthouse.

It wasn't until he was older that he learned that the boy's wings had betrayed him, that the inventor's son had flown so high that the sun melted the wax, destroying his wings and sending him plunging to the sea.

Miss Victoria was gone now; at least, she could no longer tell stories. Miss Augusta told stories as well, and in time, he came to love them almost as much as Miss Victoria's. Not the knights, no, they were dull and wanted nothing more than the heart of a beautiful princess. The dragons, however, fascinated him. They soared like Icarus had, but their strength allowed them to fly far higher and their wings did not melt beneath the sun's heat. In caves they stored mountains of gold and could make the villagers cower before them for no reason other than their own amusement. His father was a dragon, he knew, and someday, he would be a dragon as well.

Dragons blossomed in the margins of his school notes and occupied his dreams. Sometimes, the boy thought of the tributes in the arenas his father designed, wondered if they, like the knights of old, could slay a dragon.

Twenty years later, he decided he had pondered that question for long enough. In his first year as Head Gamemaker, the boy, now a man, unleashed the monster that had so long been brewing in his dreams. The tall, burly tribute proved himself a true knight, and the man could not help but be disappointed.

He believed he had surpassed the dragon, that he had become infallible. For five years, he moved the tributes in the Arena around like pieces on a chessboard. In his sixth year, he met one child who refused to play by the rules, and in a fatal moment of weakness, he allowed her to win.

With a bowl of berries in front of him and a length of coarse rope in his hand, the man realized that he had been right as a boy. He was not the dragon but Icarus, and now he had flown too high. He felt the scorch of the Girl on Fire melt away his wings, and as he kicked the chair out from underneath him, he finally understood Icarus' final plunge.

.oOo.

**A/N:** The character in the last chapter was Cashmere. Thanks for reading! This chapter was heavily inspired by Estoma's fic _Depraved and Devious _and written for the What's in a Name? contest on Caesar's Palace.


	8. Chapter 8

Thirty squats, forty jumping jacks, fifty burpees. Rinse and repeat. She isn't even breathing hard by the end of it, and she's furious. You don't win by being complacent when things seem like they're going well, but the trainers don't understand. They don't want her to 'risk her health' or 'push herself too far.' The student brushes off their concerns. She knows her limits.

She knows there are no limits, and even if there were, she would bite and claw her way through them. Who is to say that she shouldn't, that she can't? She will.

She does. Now it's sixty squats, eighty jumping jacks, one hundred burpees. Still not enough, but closer.

It is enough. Her Games move more quickly than any in recent memory as she and her allies plow, or, more accurately, cut, stab, and crush through the weaker tributes. It's only eight days before she and the One man watch each other from the opposite sides of a stream, each knowing their entire lives have been lived just for the next few minutes.

Actually, it's only seconds. She doesn't think she so much as blinked, but suddenly, he's right there, forcing her to the ground, his sword poised to strike. She will not be beaten so easily, and she twists out from underneath him before the silver blade slices clean through her throat. Like she's been taught, she does what she has to do.

Her muscles don't win her the Games, she marvels later. Or perhaps they did ensure her victory. The woman does wonder, sometimes, if the jaw counts as a muscle.

.oOo.

**A/N:** The last chapter's character was Seneca Crane. Thanks for reading and to everybody who has reviewed, favorited, or followed!


	9. Chapter 9

The sand is warm and damp between her toes, and the dock shades her from the glaring sun above. The air always tastes salty and crisp here, and she's happy just to breathe and be alive. Usually, she comes here to daydream, but today, the woman would rather that her mind be filled with nothing but the sound of the waves and the shine of sunlight on the water. Anything else will only bring nightmares that she can't escape by waking.

The waves tickle her toes now. Soon, it'll be high tide, and she'll have to leave her little den of seashells and dried sea stars to be washed away. But she can't leave now, not they are up there, not while she can hear him whispering things he should only say to her into the other woman's ear. Her hands are clapped over her ears, but she can still feel his words pounding inside her head.

Silent tears fall as a moan filters through the boards. An _I think we should go somewhere more private _leaves her shaking, but not as much as the giggle that follows it. She wishes she could be jealous or hate him for it. More than that, she wants to be able to do something to stop what she knows will happen later, might be happening now, that she could throw herself at that monster and make her suffer for what she's going to do to him. Maybe she could get away with it; she is a poor, mad girl, after all. But she knows she can't, for though the president allows his Victors many luxuries, getting away has never been one.

.oOo.

**A/N:** And that, ladies and gentlemen, concludes _By Any Other Name. _Thank you so much for reading, and I really hope you've enjoyed these! The last chapter was Enobaria, and this is Annie Cresta. Thanks for any reviews/follows/favorites/etc., your interest really means a lot to me.


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